


Nina Likes to Watch

by voksen



Series: WKverse [44]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Rimming, Rosenkreuz, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-22
Updated: 2009-10-22
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:15:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/pseuds/voksen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless, pointless Sergei/Amlisch porn. Ayup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nina Likes to Watch

Sergei and the Colonel, they've got this understanding. They keep it quiet, private, even amongst the team, because Sylvia's as fast at turning knowledge into her own advantages as she is at everything else and Rudolf, despite his quick wit and broad-shouldered blond good looks that appeal to them both, can't keep a secret to save his life.

It goes like this: when Amlisch leaves his door open just so, and Sergei happens to wander by, he comes in and shuts it behind him, just loud enough for the _click_ to carry across the room. (It's much more discreet than rubber bands or ties on doorknobs, which makes it only _risky_ instead of completely idiotic. It also helps that Amlisch has rooms as far away from most of the telepaths as can be, and all of them left at Rosenkreuz know better than to spy on him.)

By the time Sergei crosses over to the big desk, next to a window that's always open, rain or shine, for Nina's convenience, Amlisch has his pants undone, half pushed down, so that all Sergei has to do is slip between him and the desk and kneel in front of him.

Amlisch likes to come first, which Sergei had wondered about at first, but soon accepted as just part of how it is. His cock is long, but not too thick, and it fits in his mouth pretty good. They have a routine for this, too, and Sergei doesn't see any reason to change up something they both like. Besides, Amlisch never tells him different. (Amlisch never talks at all while they're doing this despite his usual eloquence, but his hand runs through the cropped spikes of Sergei's hair as he blows him, occasionally drops to his face, feathering over his forehead, his nose, his closed eyes, the hollows of his cheeks, runs over Sergei's mouth where it's wide around his cock.)

He takes it slow at first, almost lazy, all tongue and lips and gentle sucking, until Amlisch's hand slides to the back of his head, pulls him forward: he goes willingly, his hands coming up to brace on the chair for balance as he dips down his cock again and again, the back of his throat getting sore, just a bit.

Most times, Amlisch comes down his throat, holding him still in a surprisingly strong grip, so that he barely tastes it; once in a while, he spurts over Sergei's tongue, hot and bitter-salty, so it lingers for ages and fills his nose with the smell of sex, too. It's pretty much the only real variation there ever is in this, and Sergei is admittedly a little curious, but he never asks why.

Either way, after that, Sergei slides back, wiping his mouth, his chin; Amlisch stands, leans over his desk, and Sergei (always ridiculously hard by this point) takes his place in the chair. He runs his hands up the back of Amlisch's thighs to his ass, spreads him open, leans forward and licks up the short path from his balls. Again, he starts gently, gradually: long, broad strokes of his tongue over Amlisch's asshole, slowly adding in more pointed flicks, teasing the rim.

Around about this point he always has to reach down with one hand, stroke himself through his pants. It's not near enough, but he puts up with it, knowing he'll be getting more soon. Stiffening his tongue, he pushes it in, shallow little laps that make Amlisch shudder, lean back towards him.

He keeps it up, occasionally going back to the broader swipes of his tongue, sometimes brushing his lips over it, until his jaw, his tongue are well and truly tired; by then, Amlisch is slick, relaxed; when he slides a finger into him, it goes easy. He licks again over the rim of his hole, around his finger, hears the slight hiss of his breath, turns his finger and crooks it slightly, then slides it deeper, working the slipperiness of his spit deeper in.

By the time Sergei pulls his finger back, stands up to unzip his pants, Amlisch is starting to get hard again; by the time Sergei spits in his hand, smears it with his pre-come wet and slick over his cock, he's there, hot, ready. He pushes back eagerly onto Sergei's dick as Sergei shoves in, and from there it's a race, their staminas matched against each other's - except Sergei wants it bad already, could come in less than a minute from how long he's been waiting, the tightness of Amlisch's body around tongue, fingers, cock, the lingering ache in his throat.

But he holds it back, grabs tight hold of Amlisch's narrow hips and thrusts into him long and deep, closing his eyes so he won't have to watch, taking away as much sensation as he can to help himself last longer. He rarely outlasts him this time around even so. When he comes too soon, he keeps fucking him as long as he can, reaching down around him and stroking Amlisch's cock with his rough fingers, bringing him off that way.

Done, they zip up, tidy their clothes; Amlisch hands Sergei a tape or a disk to explain his presence there, and he takes himself out until the next time - wishing, as always, that for once they could fuck without the damn dove staring at him the whole time.


End file.
